


Ain't no rest for the wicked

by MistressPaint



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Developing Relationship, F/F, F/M, Humanstuck, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-24
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2018-04-05 23:33:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4199280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressPaint/pseuds/MistressPaint
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's Senior year for a group of friends that absolutely loves to party with any excuse. High school is coming to an end, and it's time to celebrate - now Karkat just needs to spend this final time figuring out the future.<br/>Specifically, a certain person he'd very much like to be involved in it.</p><p>(aka, The adventures of two party animal dorks figuring out that they like each other, sharing weird secrets, and going out with a BANG)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Do I Wanna Know?

**Author's Note:**

> Dave and Karkat's developing relationship, and then their lives as a couple, told mostly via the events at or around the many celebrations the 16 kids host and attend.
> 
> I think I have a pretty decent idea of how this is going to to, even if I didn't write the whole thing before posting (like I did for Splintered Self and this wasn't originally a plug for that but now it's multitasking as self promotion and a note/disclaimer) so hooopefully it'll happen at a reasonable pace.
> 
> Also I started this in 3rd person and then switched to 2nd halfway through and had to go back and change it, so there may be residual errors from that.

(aka, There is no way in hell he likes me back) 

You glare down at your paper, tapping your pencil on the surface impatiently. Just the rest of this class period, and you can disappear into the crowd, quietly make your way home… and do your best to hide from your friends for the weekend. You can already feel the gazes of several of your friends burning into your back. The longer this class drags on, the more you come to regret mentioning to Sollux that you were planning on skipping out tonight. You eye the door, calculating. Maybe you could rush out as soon as the bell rang?

The teacher’s wavering voice, raised over the sudden sound of shuffling and sliding chairs, breaks through your plotting. “All right then, make sure you have groups of no more than four. I expect this assignment handed in before you leave. You have 40 minutes.”

_Fuckfuckfuckfuckfu-_

The chair beside you slides back with a screech as someone crashed down into it. “Heeeeeey crabby pants.” You sigh heavily, turning to the wickedly grinning teal haired weirdo. The dye and her glasses – bright red and sharp enough to skewer yourself – created quite the eye smarting combination. "Hi, Terezi.”

Kanaya turns the chair at the desk in front of your own, sitting down primly, and raises an eyebrow at you. “So, what’s this we hear about you suddenly deciding to miss out on Rose’s bonfire tonight?”

You glare at Sollux as the blonde set his laptop down beside Kanaya. “I told you to keep _quiet_ about it, you dickmunching traitor” you hiss. Sollux just shrugs. “KK, I don’t know what you were thinking, but I’m thure ath hell not going to be the one to tell the double Lalondeth that you didn’t want to go. Tho I told Kan.”

Kanaya frowns at you, leaning against his desk. “I know you well enough to assume that you aren’t skipping out because of her – which is good, or I would need to have a talk with you–” you shiver. Rose and Kanaya had been together for most of high school, and pissing off either one of them was a terrible idea. “–but I don’t have any idea why else you would skip it. I’ve been helping set up, and it’s everything you like in a party. Roxy even practically bought out the liquor store. All of our friends will be there, and more.”

You slouch back, avoiding her eyes, and mutter under your breath. She was right, of course. Under normal circumstances you’d be there in a heartbeat.

She blinks at your muttering, leaning forward, “Pardon? What was that?”

“He saaaaaaaaaaaaid~” You jump as Terezi throws a bony arm around your shoulder, cackling. Jesus, you almost forgot she was there thanks to her uncharacteristic quiet. “That ‘that’s the problem.’ Anyone you’re trying to avoid, hmmmmmm?”

You quickly shake her off, flustered, and immediately change the subject. “Guys, enough. Let’s just get this damn project over with.” _So not going into THAT._

Sollux and Terezi just trade glances and shrugged, pulling out their stuff, but Kanaya is still watching you, sudden understanding in her piercing gaze. She reaches out and places her hand on top of your notes, quietly saying, “Karkat.”

You raise your eyes to meet hers, already dreading what you’ll see. _Fuck._ She holds your gaze for a few moments, then nods, murmuring, “Come to the party.”  She was quiet enough that your other friends, who were now bickering over something ridiculous, couldn’t hear.

After a few moments, you dropped your gaze, slumping back with a heavy sigh. “Fine, I’ll go. Happy?”

She smiles, eyes twinkling. “Yes, but you will be as well. Now…” She turns to the whole group, getting their attention. “Let’s get to work.”

* * *

For the most part, Kanaya was right. You really did enjoy yourself. Good music, good (for the most part) company, a spectacular cake by Dad Egbert… not to mention plenty to drink. Rose might have only been turning 18, but her mom, Roxy, had never much cared about legality. So long as everyone stayed safe, she was happy to facilitate whatever shenanigans the whole group of friends was up to.

Which, in your own case, currently involved debating with yourself over the merits of drinking yourself into oblivion.

You’d been fine for a while, content with just getting mildly buzzed. Then a late arrival had shown up – someone who was, coincidentally, your sanity’s arch nemesis.

Dave.

Fucking.

Strider.

Your life had been absolutely _dandy_ before he jumped right in the middle of everything at the start of Junior year. Okay, well, not really, but at least your mind was your own. Now it was constantly filled with the tall, lean, incredibly pale boy with the glittering hair, ridiculous shades, and constant aura of “cool” that he wore like a fucking poncho. Rose’s cousin from Texas – so, of course, being that Kanaya and Rose were practically married already, and Kanaya was the mother of the group, he was pulled right in. Bad rapping and all.

Okay, if you’re being totally honest with yourself, his raps weren’t that shitty when he wasn’t being all stupid and ironic. And his music was actually pretty amazing. You’re pretty sure the music selection the whole night had been peppered with Strider originals. But anyway.

The guy had fit right in – with such a weird group of misfits, of course he did.

It had taken you quite a while to realize – and even longer to stop denying – that you didn’t actually hate the guy. It was just a knee jerk reaction, trying to avoid the obvious feeling your mind had been chasing around:

Dave Strider is really fucking attractive.

And Karkat Vantas has no fucking clue what to do.

So instead of just figuring it out, the two of you had settled into a teasing sort of friendship, fueled by swearing and mutual mock hatred. Dave would spew bullshit or pull something dumb, you would call him out, and then you’d bicker. You both ended up getting close, spending more time with each other than you’d realized. But all totally platonic. It wasn’t what you really wanted, but it satisfied you for a while. Just long enough Terezi to start dating the numbskull. That had been a really shitty day. Sure, they’d ended after a few months, but it still left you with a soul crushing conclusion. You had fallen ass over teakettle for a straight, ironic moron that apparently didn’t even care about relationships.

Now, suddenly incredibly tired, you deftly extricate yourself from a conversation you’d barely been a part of, dropping onto one of the couches you’d helped drag outside – shivering slightly in the chilly late autumn air – and sighing. Who were you kidding? You hadn’t been paying a lick of attention to Nepeta and Aradia babbling about the new renovations to the local zoo. Instead you’d been standing around in the circle, trying to surreptitiously watch Strider. The guy had arrived late but plunged in the depths immediately, drink in hand from the start, sliding from group to group like a fucking figure skater, the light from the roaring bonfire catching and winking on the frames of his shades and gilding that goddamn beautiful hair. You make a face and take a sip of your own drink, watching as he and Rose bantered, slinging snark at each other. Then Kanaya added something and he clutched his chest with his free hand, bemoaning the cruelty of his friends and pretending to sob in Terezi’s shoulder while the three girls cackled.

It had taken a lot, but you’d finally worked up the courage to ask Terezi about it. She and you were good friends, but never really talked about relationships much. Especially Dave. But you had to wonder… how on earth had they dated and broken up, but still seemed to act exactly the same around each other? Joking and laughing like nothing had ever happened, at ease with each other. Were you some kind of freak, getting so attached and worked up to the point where just being around Dave makes your heart ache?

Obviously you hadn’t actually said most of that. Instead you’d mumbled it into the pillow you were clutching during one of Egbert’s movie nights, all the others running late or busy elsewhere in the house, leaving just the two of you, with her sprawled on a couch and you sitting on the floor.

She’d thought about it for moment, then pushed herself up into a sitting position, shrugging slightly. “If it was someone else, I’m not sure I could do it. But it’s Dave, y’know? It was fun while it lasted, two coolkids just chilling and being rad, but… we didn’t really click. Sure, we liked each other a lot, but we realized pretty soon that we weren’t meant for each other, and we were really just acting exactly like we did as just friends.” She laughed, wiggling an eyebrow at him behind her cherry-tinted glasses. “He might act like an unfeeling idiot, but he’s just as sentimental and touchy-feely as you, karkles, and said he didn’t want to drag me down with an empty relationship. So we talked about it, and decided to end it. It was an experiment, and it didn’t work out.” With that she flopped back down, her smile softer than usual. You’d been watching her, trying to sort out the mess of emotions in your chest and ask her how on earth you get over someone, when Jade and John burst in with popcorn. That was the end of that.

You’re so wrapped up in your thoughts that you don’t notice a figure coming up from behind until a puff of warm breath ghosts over your cheek and a smooth, deep voice drawls, “All alone, karkitten?” You jumped slightly – okay, your heart may have decided to acquaint itself with your soft palate – before leaning away and turning your head, eyes wide, to see Strider himself draped over the back of the sofa. A lazy, catlike grin made its way onto his face as he straightened, bracing himself on the furniture and leaning towards you. “Why, karkitty, are you avoiding me?” he purred, close enough that you can smell the alcohol on his breath, your own shadow blocking enough of the light to give you a glimpse through the glasses.

But suddenly your long standing quest to figure out his eye color seems rather insignificant when you can barely remember how to breathe.

Then he giggles slightly, smirk breaking into a silly grin, and drops his head, using some mysterious physical prowess you had no idea existed to vault his body over the back of the couch. He lands squarely in the middle of it, legs stretching across and onto the other arm, head dropping back to rest on your frozen thigh. He sighs and stretches out, happy, as you process _what the fucking hell just happened_. He reaches up, grinning like an idiot, and swipes at your cheek. “C’moooon karkitty… why d’you keep ignoring meeeee?” You blink down at him, surprised, as you realize you really have been. For the past few weeks you’d been so caught up in trying to squish down all your inconvenient feelings that you sort of forgot to keep acting normally around the subject of them. You somehow find your voice, and manage a mostly nonchalant “Oh… have I? Didn’t mean to.” He pouts for a moment, looking way too adorable, then gets distracted, his jaw dropping as he stared at the fire. Following his gaze, you notice that it’s flaring up in blues, greens, and purples – someone must have just dumped in a bunch of those weird crystals that dyed the flames with chemicals. You bet Jade brought them. Entranced, he gasps, “Whoa… bro, the colors are… wow…”

Suddenly suspicious, you glance at him sharply, taking in the red cheeks just barely visible around his permanent accessory. You reach down and attempt to pull the aviators off, but he slaps his hands over them, singing, “No way! Gotta buy me dinner first, karkitty~” Ignoring the blush slowly creeping up your neck, you glare down at him.

“Strider, are you drunk?” You ask flatly, a little confused. And concerned. He might drink at practically every party you’ve seen him at, and that’s a hell of a lot of parties, but he almost never lets himself get anything more than tipsy.

He stares up at you for a moment, dazed, then flaps his hand dismissively. “Ehhhhhh… maybe a bit.” He giggles, “Okay, prolly a lot,” before plastering on his own scowl and smacking you in the chest. “My best broseph keeps ignoring me, an’ I can’t fucking figure out-“ he suddenly slams his mouth shut, realizing even through whatever drunken stupor he had entered that whatever was about to escape wasn’t really something he wanted out. Despite his apparent complete lack of any inhibitions at the moment. Your heart twists painfully and you swallow before pushing at his shoulder, weakly attempting a joke. “You should sober up, Strider. No one wants to see you like this. Fucking disgraceful.”

It’s how you two insult each other normally, but the moment it’s out you get a sour taste in your mouth.

His face crumples for such a short moment you almost think you imagined it. Then he reaches up and swats at you again, heaving a long suffering sigh. “You’re so hard to flirt with, karkles.”

You gape at him as he rolls off you and stands, a little wobbly, snatching your unfinished drink from your frozen hands with a wink and downing it as he slips away, probably towards the pile of s’mores stuff Feferi just hauled out and is hollering about.

You groan and bury your face in your hands, unable to rid your head of STRIDER.

Why the everliving fuck did you give in and come.


	2. Piano Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being so much bigger and feelings bloated than I expected but it took a solid month to actually fully get into words (the last, like, half was a nightmare) and then a few days of editing and I really couldn't figure out a way to make it smoother so here ya go.

(aka, being an insomniac in a post-movie-night war zone sucks)

You lie awake, listening to the sound of the house and the pile of teenagers around you, exactly as you’ve been doing for the past several hours.

As usual, Egbert’s sometimes-bimonthly-sometimes-every-week-sometimes-a-random-amount-of-time-between-instances movie party was a roaring success. Despite the fact that the guy himself had incredibly shitty taste in movies, he had long ago surrendered the movie selection to democracy. People could bring whatever the hell they wanted and everyone would gorge themselves silly on popcorn and cake, watching movies till you all passed out.

Except for you.

No, just passing out after massive amounts of sugar and 3 full length movies wasn’t enough for your goddamn mind. Instead, like usual, you could stare at the ceiling for hours and hours, somehow getting more awake. Normally you just let your mind wander… upcoming projects, college applications you needed to work on, speculating about random things. Unfortunately, your head, right on cue and totally unoriginally, starts filling with a certain someone. Sigh.

Just as you reach that conclusion, you hear a heavy sigh, voicing your own feelings, from across the room. Rustling follows, and you quickly shut your eyes and pretend to be asleep as the other person stands, groaning slightly, and carefully picks their way through the absolute disaster your friends had created. A creaking noise and sudden burst of cold air, quickly cut off, tell you that whoever it was had gone out onto the patio. You shrug – not your business, what the others got up to do in the middle of the night – and roll over, squeezing your eyes shut and willing yourself to sleep.

Or you would have, if not for that whole fucking insomnia thing you had going on. Instead, probably no more than a few minutes later, your eyes pop open again and you scowl, irritated. Was it really too much to ask for a decent night’s sleep?

Eventually, after debating with yourself for a while longer, you heave a sigh and get up, stretching, to survey the room. Might as well do something productive, since you can’t sleep. A flicker of motion from outside distracts you, and you frown, making your way over to the door. Was someone…?

Oh, right. You almost forgot about the other late night wanderer.

You peer through the glass, even pressing your nose to the cold surface as you squint, but no luck. Rubbing your nose, you pull back and eye the door. What kind of idiot would decide to go outside when they couldn’t sleep? It’s the middle of December, he cold would just snap them awake.

Well, it’s not like you were going to fall asleep anyway. You grab the handle and swing the door open, stepping out and closing it carefully behind you.

The air, sharp with a hint of snow to come, sears your lungs and freezes your eyes, and for a moment you consider abandoning your venture. But you acclimate almost immediately, your eyes popping back open in wonder as a faint gasp drags another harsh breath in. The backyard looks alien in the moonlight, silver light playing around fuzzy and indistinct shadows that bend and twist in strange designs. You’ve spent ages in this very space throughout the years, but now it looks like an entirely different world.

Entranced, you sink down onto the bench against the wall, leaning forward to rest your elbows on your knees as you take it all in, the cold air burning away the last bits of fog clinging to the edges of your consciousness.

You don’t particularly remember zoning out, but you must have, because when you eventually notice the muffled _tap-taps_ of someone coming around the side of the house and turn your head to look, your neck creaks and whines at you like drunk Eridan. You reach up to rub the back of your neck when the figure comes into view and you pause.

It’s Dave, but… different. It takes you a while to put your finger on it. The way his shoulders slumped without slouching, hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his oversized pajama pants? The weird, mechanical way he walked, as if he didn’t want to proceed but couldn’t stand to stop? His slow, measured trudges up the patio steps, punctuated only by the occasional sigh, so light it might just have been breathing?

He comes to a stop, barely 6 feet from you, facing away. He hasn’t noticed you and you still haven’t figured it out. You start to lean back, resigning yourself to not knowing. Then he turns his head slightly and now his profile is shining silver in the dark, moonlight skating over his skin and glancing off his features and suddenly you realize what it is that’s different, your stomach bottoming out as the tiniest sharp intake of breath gives you away.

He whirls, surprise and sudden tension obvious in his frame as he automatically grasps at the neck of his shirt for the aviators that aren’t there. There’s only a split second of panic, and then he sighs, shoulders slumping. “Hey.”

You’re surprised for a moment – not like him to be so concise – but worry overtakes it and you just jerk your head at the empty spot beside you, uncharacteristically quiet yourself. You’re too busy avoiding looking at his naked face – it seems wrong, somehow, like a cheat – and you don’t realize he took your offer until the bench rocks slightly and you can hear him breathing.

For a while your mixed breathing is the only thing you hear, and you hazard a glance. He’s leaned back against the wall of the house, eyes closed, and you might almost think he could be sleeping if not for the way he was worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and how he couldn’t seem to figure out what to do with his hands.

“What are you doing out so late?”

He cracks a tiny, strained smile at that. Any second now… “You’re one to talk.” Yep. Normally you’d tease him for being predictable but right now you’re more worried than anything.

You don’t say anything, though, and eventually he sighs. “Just, y’know. Thinking about… stuff.”

You have a feeling he isn’t talking about worrying over homework or next week’s test, but you let it stand. He goes back to fidgeting.

Finally he slouches further down, almost hunched over himself, before breaking the silence once more, his voice raw. “So, um. I – well, you…“ He cuts himself off, looking unsure, before drawing a breath and trying again.

“So, even though you can be, to quote you against yourself, a raging douchenozzle, um, we’re still pretty good friends, yeah? I mean we hang a lot and stuff and like I know I’m really secretive but you are too so I figured that of everyone you’re probably the least like to spill it but I still don’t know if you’d freak out so I haven’t-“

You nudge him with your elbow, heart thumping painfully. “Get to the point.”

“Ifishowyoumyeyeswillyoufreakout.” He mutters it quickly and slurs the words together. You lean forward, frowning. “What? I couldn’t understand you.”

He inhales and straightens some – gathering courage, maybe? – before repeating himself quietly.

“If… I show you my eyes, will you promise not to freak out?” He’s trying to keep his voice carefully neutral, but on a few syllables the façade cracks and you can hear hints of pleading. You’re torn between soul crushing disappointment that it wasn’t a confession – _seriously, did you honestly think that it might have been you are so fucking pathetic and lovestruck it’s not even funny_ – and wanting to dance in joy that he apparently actually trusted you enough with something so important that he’s managed to hide it for years even in all states of “under the influence.”

Instead you settle for staring at him like a deer in the headlights and nodding, mute, before stumbling over your words to confirm when you realize _duh he can’t see you his eyes are closed_. But he gets what you mean, turning his face towards you, and you can’t help but tense in anticipation wonder why it’s such a big deal at the same time.

Then he opens his eyes and _oh_.

You don’t think you’ve ever seen such a gorgeous shade of red - like fresh blood and ripe cherries sitting in a new snowbank or something. Seeing them makes everything click.

“You’re albino.” He nods, hesitant, clearly still uncomfortable. You know you’re staring and should stop, but you’re too caught up just _looking_ at him. The marks on his nose where the sunglasses perch, the small scar under his eyebrow, everything. Wow.

You realize he’s still waiting, more tense than ever – afraid of rejection? You’ll have to ask him about that later. Maybe that’s why they moved here; another mystery you’d been wondering about. Your head swirls with a thousand things to say, from sappy to harsh and mundane to ridiculous, but you settle for a simple “They’re beautiful.”

He relaxes slightly and looks away, embarrassed. No wonder he always wears his aviators – his eyes and brows are so expressive without them. All his miniscule tells are magnified, and with a little practice you’re sure you could read him like a book.

He distracts you from thoughts of really wanting to be able to practice that by shrugging and looking away, saying, “So, I told you my part in the freakshow.” Huh. You’d never quite thought of it, but it was true that they all had some sort of weird quirk, physical or otherwise. Sollux’s lisp, Eridan’s accent and scars – freak boating accident, apparently – Vriska’s arm and eye, Terezi’s sensory weirdness… He jerks his head at you, breaking your train of thought. “What’s yours?”

You hesitate for only a split second before nodding sharply, surprising Dave. _To hell with it_. You stand abruptly and lift your shirt, immediately regretting it when the cold air raises goose bumps all along your torso – but you don’t put it down because his eyes have gone wide and his mouth looks dangerously close to dropping open.

You squeeze your eyes shut, suddenly feeling sick. You know what he sees. The giant birthmark, angry and mottled red against your own tanned skin, sprawled across your side and onto your ribs, even wrapping around and curving up to your shoulder blade. And layered over it, the scars and marks and burns from that very, very bad time in middle school when you decided you’d be better off without it. Shame burns at you. This was a terrible idea.

Something cold brushes one of the larger scars, just the barest of feathery touches, so light you can hardly feel it. It slides down, following the curve of that particular scar, before jumping to the next and continuing on, mapping the patternless wounds and leaving in its wake a trail of prickling and shivers. You’re frozen, afraid to move, half of you sure that it’s your imagination and the other half being carefully ignored. You open your eyes and force yourself to look down, to see the quiet intensity in Dave’s face as he crouches in front of you, lightly tracing the edges of the birthmark. The relief hurts.

When he finishes, he looks up at you. You don’t see any pity, or loathing in his gaze. Just curiosity, maybe a little sadness. You shrug self-consciously, pulling your shirt back down. “We had a swim unit in sixth grade at my old school. Wouldn’t let us wear shirts.” Fuck, your own voice doesn’t sound any better than his did. You clear your throat. “I was pretty little back then, already got picked on. It just got worse after that. So…” You hesitate, then plunge on. “Eventually it got so bad I decided to try to get rid of the damn mark myself while my dad was on a business trip. Didn’t work out. But my brother found me and confronted the school. Dragged my dad home too. We moved here a month later.”

He stands up and moves back, sorrow obvious on his face. Hesitant, you cross your arms over your chest. “Was it your eyes?”

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “You’d think it would be, but no. None of the kids at my school ever found out. I was careful.” You raise an eyebrow at him. He’s pulled out that bravado again. You don’t buy it. He holds it for a few seconds before dropping it, shooting you a look. “You have to promise not to tell anyone.” You glare at him and scoff, waving an arm to encompass the whole area. “Like any of this is going anywhere? Just spill.”

Sighing, he slides his hand into his hair, raking it back from his forehead. “It was a teacher, okay? My older brother… well, basically, he was a stripper. At a gay club. And, like, it was fine and all, he got saddled with me when I was still little and couldn’t exactly quit, bills wouldn’t pay themselves. Was always real careful about it too, making sure none of the, er, clientele could find him, and was working really hard to start up his own business the whole time. He quit as soon as the puppets started bringing in enough to live on.” You can’t believe you’re hearing this. Holy shit, this night had gone so far off the deep end in terms of sharing. “So everything was all fine and dandy for a while. Perfectly normal Texan family, a bisexual albino kid and a gay ex-stripper older brother who heads a puppet porn empire. Whole neighborhood loved us, or they would’ve, except like I said, we were real careful. He still practiced pole dancing to work out though, even taught me some. It’s kinda fun.” You aren’t really sure which part of this you’re most hung up on – you’re torn between ‘puppet porn empire,’ ‘Dave Strider is bi’ fuck yeah, and _you did not need images of him dancing running through your head jegus._

You’re so glad he’s too busy rambling to look at you.

“But anyway life was cool for a while. But partway through sophomore year my Spanish teacher went on maternity leave, and we got a new teacher. Mr Bourne.” Some subtle change in his voice catches your attention and you glance at him sharply. He ignores it and keeps talking, voice purposefully kept light, backing up to lean against the railing. “Weirdest coincidence you’ve ever seen, it turned out he was an old regular at the club. Apparently bro had been his favorite, and was none too happy when he left. Course, we didn’t know all that till he started hitting on me. And then threatening my grades. I guess he recognized my bro somehow and decided he liked our family a little too much.”

You move to the edge of the porch as well, turning to face and house and leaning back against the railing to mimic Dave, so close you were almost touching him. But not quite. He falls silent and you begin wondering if you messed up, but then he slides closer so your sides are pressing together and you tell your mind to shut up as he starts talking again.

“I told bro and he was royally pissed. Wanted to get the guy tossed in jail, or beat the living daylight out of him. Was kind of scared, too. He hadn’t realized who the guy was until then – apparently he was a real creep, almost got himself banned a few times for violence but management could never prove he was a smooth talker. We decided not to bring it to the school – only a month left in the year, and doing that would bring more things to light that would hurt than help. So I stuck around till the end and then we noped the fuck out as soon as summer started. Bro thought it would be easier to make the move if we knew someone already. So we moved up here. And you know the rest.”

You’re torn between wanting to comfort him and… you don’t know, distract him? Do something to fix his hunched over posture, furrowed brows, tight jaw, and fisted hands.

He chuckles, but it’s hollow and forced and hurts to listen to. “Sorry man. Didn’t mean to unload all that on you.”

You shrug, even though he’s staring at the ground. You know he can feel it – one of the many advantages of being right next to each other. “No harm done. Besides, you listened to me bitch about my stupid birthmark thing and didn’t ridicule me.” He turns his head slightly, squinting at you and studying your face. Whatever he saw there made him scowl, and he straightened, bumping you with his shoulder. “S’not stupid, dumbass. It’s a hell of a better reason for moving than a creepy pedo teacher.” You’re about to respond when he groans and slumps back down, burying his face in his hands and says, “Fuck. Distract me.”

“Uh. What.”

He lifts his head again and shakes it, agitated. “Just- say something weird. Interesting. Change the topic. You’re good at that. Do something. Just- I don’t want to think about that.”

Your first thought is to kiss him.

Your second thought, once you wrestle the first one away, is to stand up, spin him around, and _then_ kiss him.

Your third thought is thankfully kiss-free, so you blurt it out without thinking.

“I trashed Egbert at a piano competition when we were nine.” Oops.

He stares at you for a moment, shocked. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“I thought you didn’t move here till middle school?” he points out suspiciously.

You give him your most condescending look. “State-wide competition, numbnuts. I just lived on the other end of the state.”

“Huh.” He seems to be considering it. “Never would have pegged you as a pianist. Especially not one good enough to beat the piano family.” He frowns pensively, muttering to himself. “Pianily? Pian…amily? Piamily?”

You roll your eyes again – you swear, one of these days you’re going to sprain an eyeball. “My grandpa was a professional, and he taught me and my brother. I quit a long time ago, though. And John hadn’t been playing for as long at the time.”

You realize that he stopped mumbling portmanteaus while you were talking and is now watching you, a curious gleam dancing in his eyes. It worries you a little.

“Can you still play?”

You shrug. “Yeah, but I’m no pro. Don’t practice as much as I should.”

He smirks then and leaps up, turning to grab you by the hand and pull you up and towards him. Your mind flashes back to Thought #2 before catching up to the present and you stare at him as he says, “Show me.” His eyes are wide and his smirk keeps threatening to break into a grin and you know he’s as giddy on the cold night air as you are, so it’s time to throw caution to the wind.

You grab his shirt as you push past him, making a beeline for the nearest piano – oops, room full of people alert. You really don’t want to explain all this.

Still pulling him behind you, you change course and charge up the stairs two at a time, struggling to keep laughter from bubbling up through your chest and out of your throat because even though you two just shared way more feelings than you had reason to even dream of, you’re just so _happy_. It’s like a weight has been taken off your shoulders.

You push open a door at the end of the hall and _yes_ you were right in remembering that there was a piano here. You sit on the bench, pulling him down next to you, and gesture grandly to the piano before you. “What do you want to hear?”

He drapes his arm across your shoulders and you lean into him as he shrugs. “Hell if I know, man. It’s 4:30 in the morning and I’m not sure whether I want to run across rooftops laughing or become one with my bed while sobbing into my pillow.” You laugh because his description is so goddamn perfect and run your fingers over the keys, playing a few scales before launching into your favorite song for times when you can’t tell if you want to laugh or cry.

He seems a little surprised when you slide straight from a scale into the opening riff, but a few chords in he _gets_ it and then the two of you are swaying back and forth together and singing your hearts out. His voice is deep, deeper than you expected, but it soars way up on the high parts and damn but you just want to sing along with it for the rest of the night, at least. You aren’t really sure how you’re even hitting the chords anymore but at the moment you’re right where you want to be.

The song finally comes to an end and you feel like your emotions hijacked a bus and slammed it into your chest cavity. You collapse back against Dave, exhausted, before opening your eyes – and meeting his, staring directly back at you. He’s so close, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. But for tonight the feelings jam has kicked all your worries to the curb. So you lean forward, towards him, and his arm follows you as he leans in himself.

Fuck.

_Yes._  

You close your eyes, your lips meeting in the barest of brushes, and grab the front of his shirt to drag him closer.

“Boys, sorry to interrupt, but…”

Dave abruptly lets you go as you exploded into unintelligible curses, both of you overbalancing and toppling off the piano bench in opposite directions. You roll around for a moment, discombobulated, before struggling to your feet, still spitting curses and ready to skewer whoever interrupted you.

Before you stands Dad Egbert, looking like he was just dragged out of bed after not nearly enough sleep.

Oops.

Maybe you’ll get a chance to finish this later.


End file.
